


Warlock

by ausmac



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Reality, Drug Use, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: An 'alternate reality' story where Obi-Wan is an Inquisitor for a Jedi Order that uses torture and threat to control the galaxy, and Qui-Gon is a renegade - a Warlock.The Inquisitors were inspired by Susan Matthews' Inquisition novels.





	1. Chapter 1

The wind coming down the Cut was cold and damp and it stank of oil and shit and stale things.  The smell had never bothered me, nor the cold.  Now and then I need to return to the basics -- unfiltered air, uncontrolled feelings, uninhibited actions.   In a life of regulation and disguise, of procedure and control, it was a small detour to reality that helped to keep me sane. 

Down there, the wind was free to move through the gap in the towers, collecting reality along the way; the smells and the damp of some distant rain shower, discarded things from above,  and the sounds of life and death.  It brought me closer to the raw edge of things, the living energy that sparks at the moment of passing and renewal. 

But it was a dangerous place to loiter and I needed to pay attention, to listen for the sounds of breathing, the feel of threat.  Danger never came alone down there, it came in packs, numbers that even an Inquisitor would find hard to deal with.  

The night’s fearful quiet was broken now and then by the sounds of threat.  I heard the faint howling of a pack echoing down the Cut, the high, hysterical laughter of some Spicehead caught in a thrillkill, the cut-short shriek of the victim.  At least whoever it was had died fast.  

Finally, my hojo arrived, a little sly Sreek named Binto.  I smelled the sreek’s fear across the way as he slid from shadow to shadow, doorway to pipeline, finally sliding next to me in the shadows. 

I pushed the hood from my head.  “You are late."  

"Yeeso sorry Lord.  Breakneck's pack down the Cut a piece, just took a tourist down, lotsa noise, lotsa mess.”  The sreek bit his stubby nails, his greasy whiskers twitching with fear I could taste.  “Had to bypass round the backa the Steelwoman's House.  I almost turned back, got real hot. . ." 

I grabbed the sreek by his tatty robe, pulled him closer and the creature gobbled in alarm.  

"You do not turn around and not keep an appointment with me unless your legs fail to work, Binto.  Now, do you have it?” 

Binto nodded, wild-eyed, held on the edge of panic by his greed.  "Aya, right here."  

"Give it to me." 

"Well, Lord, you know, I've got this thing." 

"Seek medical help.  Just give me my caps." 

"No, no, yous very funny Lord.  I mean, this thing I do.  I get paid and I gives the stuff.  Poor old hojo like me been robbed and tricked and no, I don't say you would, Lord, but please. . ."  He was starting to whine. 

It was not much fun playing with something like Binto, he always buckled under the first poke.  So I paid him, just dug the chip out of my vest pocket and handed it over.  "Please do not insult me by checking it, Binto, it is the right amount." 

The chip disappeared inside the sreek's robe and a moment later he was handing over the two little silver cylinders. 

I thumbed the lid of one, put a speck on his finger.  Yesss, fine, I could feel it tingle, calling to my blood.  "Good stuff, well done Binto.  Till next time."  I went to turn away and Binto held up his paw again. 

"Waito, Lord.  I have something -- well, thing is, that dead tourist was coming to buy from me, see, and he's in bits now, no credits.  Wondered if you might like it?" 

I waited.  "Well, what is it?" 

"New stuff, Lord, straight from the labs on Weeont, latest thing.  Called Glitter." 

"What does it do?" 

Binto waved his paws enthusiastically.  "The users say, amazing things.  Takes you places, shows you things, makes the dreams real." 

"They all say they do that, you little idiot." 

"Yes, but not so real as this.  See, it’s a blend of chemicals and live things, little things, big names, forget what.  Goes to the brain, lights you up inside."  The sreek grinned, sharp little teeth showing in the dark.  "Real bright." 

My ever-ready suspicious node turned on.  "You wouldn't be trying to poison a customer, would you, hojo?" 

Binto squeaked in alarm.  "Nosir, I'm not crazy hojo.  You good customer, Lord.  I just outta credits here on this deal.  But it’s kaykay, you don't want, I take it back to source." 

Temptation reared its ugly little head.  Using the stuff was rather like leaping off a rooftop with a springline around your ankles.  A fast fall, a sharp stop, and sometimes people died  and sometimes they lived, after a fashion.  Living safe was living long, very, very long.  So I took it from the hojo, the little crystal bottle with the oily yellow liquid inside and paid him.  Obi-Wan Kenobi always paid his way. 

It was night by the time I reached the Temple, but the guards knew me and admitted me without confirmation, even wearing my hood and travel mask.  To go out of my rooms unmasked was forbidden, but it was the smallest sin I’d committed that night.  To show my face to any not of the Order was death for the one who saw it, and I had nothing against those guardians to warrant causing their deaths, so the mask was back on by the time I reached the security gates. 

As I’d grown, I came to see how the Temple generated its own sense of quiet threat.  Shadows there were different, but just as real.  The city was a more feral danger, while the danger within those great white walls was calm and powerful and very, very patient. 

The corridors were quiet, with most about their duties or at the evening meal.  The night lanterns had already been lit, and their ceremonial glow leant a glamour to the hallways that never ceased to fascinate me.  In a technological age the Order was a paradox; advanced and yet tied to tradition, suspicious of technology for its own sake, intrinsically hidebound.  Powerful, yes, but sometimes just a little stodgy. 

I had chosen my rooms with care.  They were at a favourable position, their ambience resonating with comfortable balance.  Yet they were a little set apart, separated from the rest of the community by a series of service passageways and elevator shafts.  Years of careful management had allowed me to enlarge and equip them for comfort and a little luxury.  I had all I needed; my small treasures, my bath chamber, and my jessman. 

T’ooh opened the door just as I came to it, the young man’s rudimentary lifeforce sense telling him of his master’s approach.  He was a good servant and I never found reason to doubt my selection.  Bound to me in servitude and carved with the Order’s mark and collar, he could see my face without dying.  

As I stepped inside T’ooh closed and palmed the lock before bowing with precise neatness.  I signed to him, stripping away my robe as I moved inside. 

**+Messages?+  
**

T’ooh nodded, raising one finger and touching his forehead.  One message, from the Court. **  
**

**+Good.  Prepare my bath and the Quiet Grays+**

I settled in front of the communicator and coded in for my messages.  There were two unimportant social notes from friends, and one carrying the red starburst sign of the High Council.  It was Lord Mace’s signet, and I accepted it with curiosity.  The Lord Inquisitor rarely contacted one so lowly, except that I suspected the Lord might wish to be served by me in ways not prescribed by the Rules of the Order.  It was one reason I enjoyed offworld missions.  

The message was simple and brief – attend the Lord after the evening meal.  I sent a confirmation and stood, stripping off my robes and dropping them to the floor as I walked to the bath chamber. 

T’ooh had prepared my bath and was ready for me when I entered the chamber.  My body slave was naked, standing by the bath patiently, waiting for his instructions.  I flicked my fingers towards the bath and T’ooh bent to test it before stepping gracefully into the water.  He slid down and opened his legs to allow me to stand between them.  I lowered myself into the warm water, sighing with content.  It was an old-fashioned folly, to immerse oneself in water to clean, but I enjoyed the luxury of it. 

As I sat relaxed against him, T’ooh lathered my body, his smooth, careful hands rubbing the cleaning cream over shoulders and chest, down my arms and everywhere else he could reach.  Using the sponge, he washed the cleanser away and, when I had attained a suitably comfortable state, he reached over to where I had put one of the small silver caps I’d bought from my disreputable little dealer.  He flipped it open, tested a tiny speck on his tongue, and nodded.  I opened my mouth and he poured the silvery powder onto my tongue. 

A slight bitter taste, a ticking sensation at the back of my nose, a brief sharp headache behind my eyes – and then it was into the blood, doing its magic.  Every little fear, pressure and concern faded beneath its golden hazy pleasure.  T’ooh had saved a little for himself; I’m sure I could taste it on his lips when he kissed me, could feel its gentle buzz when his mouth pleasured me.  

I never knew for certain whether he hated me or not, but at those times, with my cock in his clever, silenced mouth, it didn’t seem to really matter. 

When the drug had done its work and I was relaxed and cleansed, I dressed in the Quiet Greys and donned my plain silver Mask of Duty.  Then it was up to the top of the tower, into the rarefied and dangerous world of the Lords of the Order.

Lord Mace’s quarters were an impressive mix of lavish and simple. The restrained colours, buff and grey, cool green and dark blue, blended into subdued splendour. I would have liked to have studied the artworks around the large open room, but I had no time. Not when the Lord was standing before me in his deep red robes and gold Mask of Office, demanding my attention. 

When the doors closed behind me, I bowed, and removed my Mask in deference. 

“Lord.” 

The Lord removed his own, and turned away towards the couch by the wide windows.  A pair of young jessmen were kneeling, motionless, by the window, and he waved them away before signalling me to sit. 

“Kenobi.  I have a mission for you, one to your taste I believe.  You are to go to Alderaan and bring back a prisoner.” 

It seemed hardly a duty worthy of an Inquisitor, even a blue level.  “Yes Lord,” I responded, sitting and gathering my robes, my tone even and respectful.  “I take it this is not an ordinary prisoner.” 

“No,” and he smiled, his unmasked features twitching into an unusual display.  “No, not ordinary at all.  The Securitors have captured a Warlock on Alderaan.” 

I straightened, surprise making me gape.  “A Warlock!” 

“Yes, and not just any Warlock.  Qui…” 

“Jinn!”  It came out before I could stop it, driven by surprise.  “We have taken Qui-Gon Jinn!” 

“Yes, the Great Heretic himself.  So you are entrusted with a grand duty, young Inquisitor.  Go to Alderaan, find out how he came to be found there of all places, and prepare him for the Questioning.” 

My eyes lost their focus as I contemplated the news, and something inexplicable made me daring.  “Lord, I would Question him, if I could be allowed.” 

His black eyebrows rose.  “You think you have the skill to Question a Warlock, young man?  You do not think he might be beyond you?” 

Of course, I was probably being stupid, but something made me  push.  “No, Lord.  I believe it is my path.” 

He snorted, but schooled his features to their normal calm.  “Perhaps, or perhaps your ego.”  He looked down, thoughtful, and I held my breath.  When he looked up again there was calculation in his eyes.  “Very well, I shall allow you the first three levels of the Question – and in return, you will be maen to me for a quarter.” 

Maen.  Bedmate.  So, there it was.  He expected me to refuse, I think, and he would smile in my face and nod and say, very well, and the opportunity would be lost.  Such arrangements were not unknown among the senior members of the Order.  We took no mates, and relationships were rare.  I’d just never considered myself in that role. 

I realised that I very much wanted this mission for reasons I couldn’t fathom and didn’t wish to investigate too closely.  So I agreed. 

He didn’t appear that surprised, though it was hard to read the Lord Inquisitor of the Jedi Order.  He accepted my maen oath, and issued the orders to send me to Alderaan.  I took ship the next day, to travel to that most peaceful and biddable of worlds, to take charge of a legend.

 

* * *

 

He sensed the arrival of the one he had foreseen, just as he had sensed the sunrise a little time before, though he could not see it. One of the first things they had done after taking him was to blind him.  
  
They had strapped him tightly, legs and arms spread fully apart, and it was so long ago that the pain and the hours blended into one agonised stretch. Reinforced bands at his wrists and ankles held him in place. He could move slightly, hardly more than a wriggle, enough to remind him how entirely restrained he was.  
  
They had taken everything from him, his clothing, his sight, even his power – or so they thought. Dulled with drugs, numbed by them, he had begun to lose track of time. No-one spoke to him, but he wasn’t alone. The future was with him, the hope that he held through the Force and within his heart and mind. It gave him strength.   
  
That, and his faith.   
  
_Remember your purpose. When what is done is done, remember it._ Like a little prayer sent into the void, he whispered the call of his faith. _Believe._  
  
He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but he thought two days, perhaps three.   
  
The thirst had been terrible. His mouth was dry, his throat painful and tight and no amount of licking generated any more saliva in his mouth or over his cracked and bitten lips. He faced it, acknowledged it and recognised it. Without water he would eventually die. He suspected it was not what they intended for him. _I am thirsty, I crave water. I have no control over that. I put it behind me._  
  
He was hungry. They had not fed him, not a scrap, and his stomach ached with emptiness even as the weakness began to creep through his centre. The hunger ripped through him, until he controlled it. _I am hungry, I have no food. There is nothing I can do about that. I put it behind me._  
  
Suspended as he was, he could neither rest nor ease the strain on his body. The ache in his arms and shoulders, that had started as a twinge, had grown to a burning, and thence to agony, and finally to the numbness of locked muscles and frozen joints. _I hurt, the pain is there every moment. I control it, put it away from myself, acknowledge but do not let it subsume me._  
  
When they had blinded him, he thought he had found his greatest horror. The pain of it had been terrible, the fear equally so, as they held his head in place and touched their tools to his brain. Then the darkness, total, all-encompassing. So helpless, so alone.

  
_I am blind. It is a terrible thing, it made me feel like a child again, afraid of the dark. Yet the Light is still there, inside me, and the strength of all the Believers who have gone before me lights my way. I cannot change this thing now. I must accept it and be one with it. I put it behind me._  
  
Then there was the fear. Fear was the beast that ate the heart, that made one less of a man.  Bad enough when you didn’t know what lay ahead.  He knew, he remembered, he had felt the pain, the blinding agony of torn flesh and screaming nerves.  He had been there, and touched it in others, and consumed it in himself. 

He faced the fear and recognised it for all its daunting shades, and put it behind him.  
  
When the door opened and his fate entered, he was balanced and at peace.


	2. Chapter 2

I hadn’t known what to expect, since no image files had been provided to me, but the reality of him was surprisingly ordinary. 

As I entered the room his head turned towards me, the long sweep of his hair moving over taut shoulders.  He was tall, very slender, and I was glad of that, for it gave him a certain imposing quality.  

I sent the guards away and deactivated the cams before taking off my travelling mask.  He could not see me, I knew that, and even if he’d been sighted it would not have mattered.  He was certain to die.  The Order would not let so great a heretic live. 

I walked around him slowly, making little sound.  Reaching out through the Force, I sensed him; he was hungry, very thirsty, in some pain from his bindings, from having been in the one position for so long.  Typical condition for a new subject.  When I stopped behind him I released his bindings with a flick of my finger. 

He staggered, and fell to his knees.  For a few moments he was silent, as his body bowed over, and then the cramps hit.  He dropped to the floor and I could sense the pain rippling through him, all the way up and down his body.  Joints cried out as he moved them, muscles locked in one position spasmed and cramped.  It was the sort of all-over pain that even I would have difficulty inflicting.  

And he cried out, a sort of gasping groan that spiralled upwards as each new pain beat upon him.  I absorbed his pain, tasted it, experienced it, remembered it.  His pain and I would become well-acquainted over the time to come. 

He was foul, of course, from his own waste.  While he was still writhing on the floor I replaced my mask and called for the guardians.  They doused him in cold water and disinfectant, washing away the worst of his dirt, and cleaned the room afterwards. 

When they had finished, I signalled them out and took off my mask.  The warlock struggled upright to sit on the wet floor, and began to lick the water from his hands and arms.  I was impressed.  Most subjects would be whimpering, begging, asking for something, anything, to ease their misery.  He simply licked the water from his skin, to ease his thirst. 

As he tasted the water on his skin, intermingled with sweat and disinfectant, so did I.  This was the way of things, the way of the Inquisitor and the Subject.  I would be with him on the journey, I would feel what he felt, because that was the only way to know the subject’s limits.  I could sense when we reached that place that bared all truths, when pain removed the bindings of conscience and honour and courage.  It was the reason for the drugs – forbidden by law, overlooked by necessity.  It was why so few became Inquisitors, and so many died insane. 

In making victims, we became victims. 

It was the price we paid for the peace we maintained. 

As he sat there, I walked around him, looked at him, with all my senses.  What was there about this man that made him special?  He was special, of course.  Not just any heretic, bent on causing dissension against the Order, but a user of the Force who did so.  He had the power of a Lord Inquisitor, and I could not underestimate that power.  A Lord Inquisitor could destroy a subject’s mind, bury the body in pain until the subject ripped the flesh from their own bones to escape it.  This Warlock was drugged and blind and alone, but I should not see him as helpless. 

“No, you should not.” 

Something stirred over my skin like a breath of wind.  As if something had stroked me, very briefly, very lightly.  I stopped and looked down at him where he sat huddled and aching and saw that he was looking towards me in a way that encompassed and ignored mere physical blindness. 

And his eyes were blue. 

Even through the drugs and the pain, he was reading me and I slammed down a layer of blocks, imagined walls in my head surrounding my thoughts, and I saw him smile.  

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Inquisitor of the Order of the Jedi, Blue Level.  You are Qui-Gon Jinn, known Warlock, Heretic, betrayer of the Order and of the Republic.  Your case has been addressed by the High Council and you are deemed suitable for Inquisition.” 

“To what level?” he interrupted. 

“Fifth level.”  

That would make anyone pause.  Fifth level was only one level short of Sixth, The Death.  Tortured to recant, tortured to reveal information on his companions in sin.  He had to know that the Sixth awaited him, at my Lord’s pleasure. 

“Well, young Inquisitor,” he said, very softly, very calmly, “you have a job to do.”  He dipped his head, then raised his blind eyes to me.  “And so do I.” 

So calm.  So arrogant.  Well, I had my skills, too.  There was much of what I did that disturbed me on certain levels, though I knew it was necessary.  I could not let that uncertainty surface, or he would taste it, and use it against me. 

I could sense how powerful this man was.  I’d known that, but on an intellectual level.  Qui-Gon Jinn, ex Lord of the Order, Warlock, master of the Force. But to meet it, sense it, feel that composure in the face of such adversity, renewed my appreciation.  It would take delicate skill, but I thought I could do it.  First, I needed to break through that control.  Normally, drugs weren’t necessary to supplement my work, but with this one… 

I had the guards set the subject up on the cross frame, with his arms and legs strapped to the frame, and then I injected him with Borzone.  It was a derivative of one of my own pleasure drugs, but with the slight adaptation that it accentuated sensation.  Slight heat would burn, slight discomfort would be pain.  Real pain would be greater still. 

As I waited for the drug to take effect, I poured a glass of wine from a carafe prepared at my orders.  I sipped the wine and considered my first step.  He turned towards me, and I saw the tip of his tongue pass over his lips. 

Thirsty, he was so thirsty.   He was, I was, we were both thirsty, and quenching that thirst would be blissful. 

I took a mouthful of wine, stood, and stepped forward.  Tipping up the Warlock’s head, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to the partly opened lips.  I sensed his surprise, took pleasure in it, and then let the wine pour into his mouth.  When it was gone, I ran my tongue around the moist mouth, then stepped backwards, taking with me the heightened sense of his taste, of his smell, and of the warm, wet feel of his skin.

 

* * *

 

 

He could not see this young Inquisitor Jedi, but all his other senses were telling him the tale.  He could smell Kenobi and his nostrils twitched to take in the warm man-scent of him.  He could feel him, the tainted Force essence, the lush promise.  He could hear his rich voice that rang with arrogance and hinted at uncertainty.  And when their lips met, he tasted him, amid the wine. 

The first session went as he thought it would.  No great pain, but disorientation.  A little food, a little discomfort, and each time he was given something to drink, it was from the Inquisitor’s mouth.  With each touch, with each sharing of skin, they went inside each other a little further. 

He was young, as Qui-Gon knew he would be, but skilled nonetheless.  Qui-Gon had been a Jedi and a Lord Inquisitor, and knew the ways of breaking the mind and body.  Classic first level questioning was to disorient and confuse, followed by the beginning of the Questioning, then more disorientation until the tortured would do or say anything for a little peace. 

Then the hand touched him below, between his legs, and he jerked in surprise he couldn’t mask.  He might expect pain there – it was an obvious target – but the hand that touched him caressed and stroked, fingers lighting on the tip of his cock, sliding under his balls, cupping him.  They paused, and he sucked in breath.  It almost – no, not possible - but it almost felt for a moment as if a tongue had licked across the very tip – 

He knew and understood his body very well, he was master of it – except with the vision of that unmasked young Inquisitor tonguing his cock, that took away control  Warmth flushed into his groin, making him harden. 

Well, so be it.  What one cannot control, one adapts to.  It was an old mantra, so he adapted, allowing himself the pleasure of the feel of that disarming, dangerous presence.   A voice came from close to his ear and Qui-Gon realised had let his concentration lapse.  When had the Inquisitor come so close? 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?  You are well-made there, Warlock, though not for long.  Perhaps I’ll take it from you, but for now we will enjoy your manhood, you and I.” 

I used Junicol and Enuetyl, one to confuse him, one to lessen his will.  I changed the temperature of the room; hot and cold, pleasant and painful, alternating without warning.  I moved him and touched him, pleasantly, hurtfully;  I quenched his thirst and I incited his hunger.  I made his mind drift free so that the only thing that anchored him was my voice. 

That was the first day. 

He was not allowed to sleep that night.  Each time he dropped off a small electric shock brought him awake.  The next day would be the start of the Inquisition. 

Before retiring to my rooms, I visited the Temple Master, an old Jedi called Felasian Trem.  He was a Dobrovian, one of the tall, thin humanoids with their hair-like head tendrils and their huge eyes.  Dobrovians make good Jedi but poor Inquisitors; their powerful empathy gives them intimate contact with the living Force, but makes them doubly susceptible to the pain. 

I unmasked before him in courtesy and his large eyes widened even more.  “You’re just a boy!”  He flushed, his pale grey skin darkening.  “My apologies, I’m not accustomed to dissembling.” 

I smiled, though in truth I was a little annoyed.  “Understood, Master Trem.  In fact, I finished my training a little over a year ago on my seventeenth  birthday, so I am not exactly a boy.  I have already passed to Blue Level.” 

He bowed his head, his head tendrils waving gently.  “Yes, understood.  Oh, by the way, the prisoner had these things, I thought you might want them.” 

Trem pushed a small cloth carry bag across to me.  It contained a few personal items: a credit chip, a wash kit, a change of clothes – and a lightsaber.  I held it in my hand, and wrapped my fingers around the worn grip.  My own ‘saber was in my room, rarely used in my role as Inquisitor, as unmarked as the day I’d made it.  Jinn’s lightsaber, though, had the feel of a weapon that had seen a fair amount of fighting.  I could almost imagine how his hand would feel holding it. 

As I held it, Trem spoke.  “I saw him once, back on Coruscant at the Temple, when I was very young.  He was superb with the lightsaber, a true Master.  One of the best I ever saw.”  As I looked up at him, the Jedi held up his slender hands, and shrugged.  “His going was a loss to the Jedi, you understand.  Not that it matters now, of course.  Terrible thing, to betray the Order like that.” 

“Yes, a terrible thing.”  I tucked the lightsaber away, and handed him a data crystal, and requested it be sent to Lord Mace.  He invited me to dinner, but I declined.  

“I need to clean myself,” I said, standing and replacing my mask.  “I am not fit company tonight.  Your staff did well with him, Master Trem, he was well prepared.  Pick one of your men who enjoys sex with other men, I may have need of one such tomorrow.” 

T’ooh had my rooms prepared when I came back to them that night. The meal was simple, but my jessman knew my needs from experience, and catered for them.  I couldn’t have eaten anything strong; my insides were on fire, burning with a hundred tiny pinpricks. 

The Warlock’s pains, centering in me, twisting along the paths of my power.  It wasn’t unexpected. 

The warm bath helped, the little capsule T’ooh gave me with my cha helped even more. 

I went to sleep, soothed by T’ooh’s experienced hands, and still dreamed.  Next morning I took one of my own peps with my cha and armoured myself for the day.

 

* * *

 

He sensed the new morning, and a little while after that, the door opened, and his skin prickled in expectation, and memory.   

There was no conversation and he was pulled upright and power braces were attached to his arms and legs.  There was a buzzing and the braces snapped apart, pulling him apart in the air just above the ground.  He hovered there, unsupported, and involuntarily flinched when a warm hand rested on his back and a soft voice spoke very close to his ear.  

“You will tell me things today, Jinn.  We will start with one thing – who you met here, and why.” 

Qui-Gon nodded.  “That’s two things, actually … ahh….”  He broke off with a gasp as his body spasmed under the icy touch of a nerve prod.  It was like being beaten from the inside. 

“Not what I wanted to hear.  Try again.” 

He talked nonsense or said nothing at all and the prod marched over his body, terrible blows that ripped through him until he shook in uncontrollable nerve spasms.  The worst of it was that he knew the rod was used only on a medium setting.  Personal experience could be an unhappy burden. 

His torturer spoke patiently, though his voice was a little harsher.  “I will raise the setting by two marks, into the high range, and the next touch will be on your testicles.  Will you obey me?” 

Qui-Gon shook his head, and tasted blood as he bit into his tongue.  For the first time that day, he passed out.

 

* * *

 

 The nerve prod is frequently effective.  It leaves no marks or physical trauma.  Used harshly or for too long it can degrade the nervous system, cause strokes or heart attacks in the weak.  He was not weak, but after a daypart of constant pain he finally blacked out.  I counted it time well spent, as he’d stopped being clever and had bitten his tongue to keep himself silent.  Witty courage is the quickest lost under the lash. 

I dosed him with a pepshot and a half measure of Borzone, brought him awake, and started again.  After three dayparts and two more pepshots, when he had messed himself uncontrollably again, he finally spoke to me in a voice worn down by screaming. 

“I met…no-one here.  I came…for you.” 

It was time for some more direct action.  I injected him with more Borzone, and sat back to study him. 

He was shivering, from cold and the aftershocks, and he stank of sweat and urine, of burnt flesh and shit.  I took a sponge from my equipment, dipped it into warm, scented water, and began to wipe down his body.  Slowly, gently, I swirled the sponge over him.  I washed his face, stroking his blind eyes, wiping around his nose and torn lips.  More water, more cleanser as I worked down over his shoulders and back, around to his chest, rubbing in a gentle circle over each nipple.  It felt good, I knew that, and the shivering slowed.  His buttocks and thighs required extra work, and then I washed his stomach and finally his genitals.  When the worst of the muck was gone I poured the warmed water over him and dried him with a towel.  

I wanted him clean for what followed – my hand, ungloved, moving over him, stroking his buttocks, his stomach, gently pinching his nipples.  They hardened and I leaned forward to take one in my mouth.  As I bit down on it he gasped and arched and I saw and felt him harden.  The Borzone was working on him, taking the small pleasures and magnifying them until the touch of my mouth and my teeth on him brought him to full arousal. 

What surprised me was my own growing arousal.  This was the first time I had done this in practical use.  For my few actual interrogations it had never been required and I hadn’t sought it.  This one was different.  From the first moment he had been my challenge, and with each passing moment in his presence, my sense of possession grew.  I wanted to own him, to know him through and through, to wring every reaction from him, from total anguish to total pleasure.  

My pleasure would be his acknowledgement of that ownership, when he surrendered to me.  Surrendered his will, his mind, his truths and his body. 

As I bit down on the other nipple, my hand slid down and cupped him, stroking the hanging balls, squeezing them gently, letting them sit in my palm.  His cock jumped and he groaned and I smiled. 

And then he did an amazing thing.  His breathing slowed, his body calmed and his arousal vanished.  It was like a switch being thrown.  I had never seen a man do that, turn off sexual arousal by sheer force of will. 

I squeezed my hand hard and he stiffened, biting down any sounds of pain.  “You’re strong, Warlock, but so am I.  Now, again – who did you meet with here?  Who is your contact?” 

He said nothing, breath panting in and out, and his eyes turned towards me, wide and blue.  Nothing. 

I hit him.  With my fist, I hit him, again and again, in the stomach, in the lower back, wherever I could, and I only stopped when I tasted blood.  Then I backed away, to the wall, replaced my mask and slapped the intercom, and gave my orders. 

The man the Jedi Master sent was enthusiastically efficient, perhaps intending to show me how well he could perform or some such thing.  Of the three of us in the room during that efficient rape, he was the only one who enjoyed it.  

When it was over I had the Warlock cleaned a little, healed a little and then I hurt him again with the nerver in places already breached, until the sounds he made were only vaguely human. 

I left the chamber, masked, with my robes smelling of him, with his helpless cries echoing in my mind.   I remembered the day my Master had used it on me, to show me its effects.  Lowest setting, briefly.  He’d been proud that I’d hardly made a sound.  Not in front of him, anyhow, though later I’d vomited my innards out and cried like a child. 

That had been my first moment of doubt, when the little voice had whispered questions about pain and cruelty _._   Shameful little voice.  Well, the drugs took care of that, too. 

Dinner, a bath, my jessman’s practised administrations, and a cap helped, but the anger still swirled in my gut.  I took a glass of wine and sat out on the balcony, alone in the dying light. 

I’d forgotten how beautiful the winter sunsets were on Alderaan.  It was as if some giant artist had swept a brush full of paint across the sky, all reds and golds and purples, dropping down through the shades until they finally faded with the sunset.  Normally such perfect moments of beauty brought me closer to the Force.  But not that night. 

What did I feel at that moment?  Dirty.  I felt soiled and uncomfortable.  I felt as if the situation was sliding from my hands, that I was reduced to shabby tricks like rape, that lacked all finesse, an ordinary act of brutality that damaged the purity of my purpose.  Did it get me closer to my aim, did it answer any questions?  No.  It fouled, it humiliated, it generated pity.  

To back down at that moment would have been a sign of weakness, so I didn’t.  I sat out in the cool night and meditated, slept a little, thought a great deal.  We were due to proceed to the second level the next day and I needed to have a report ready for Lord Windu on my progress – which was minimal. 

It was around dawn that I made my decision.  I would continue the physical assault, but I would also begin the assault on his mind.  His mind was his strength, and I must undermine that before I had a chance of success. 

As I stood, uncurling the kinks from my back, I remembered the little vial that Binto had sold me.  _It makes the dreams real._   Well, I had a worthy subject to test it on, and perhaps, through his dreams, I might learn to unmake this Warlock.

 

* * *

 

The day had been a bad one, and it took all of Qui-Gon’s strength to pull back from the edge, to draw his shattered self-control together again. 

It was his first rape, and it was just as bad as he’d thought it would be.  The rapist hadn’t bothered talking much, and he stank.  Not physically, but through those other senses Qui-Gon had.  He reeked of evil, of dark pleasure in what he did, of hurting the helpless for hurt’s sake, for twisted pleasure.  At least the young Inquisitor did what he did from a warped sense of duty.  The animal that used him that night had no such shadowed purpose. 

Sometime early in the morning hours he woke enough to find the food left for him, and he ate some of the sticky mess with his fingers.  He drank what remained of the water after he had used some to wash his face and hands, then lay back down gingerly, aching and restless.  It wasn’t quite so easy to find that calm place. 

_You have been hurt, you have been violated.  It is done, it was bad – you will go beyond it._

It took the remaining hours of the morning to believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

In the centre of the enclave on Alderaan is a courtyard.  Open to the sky, it is around fifty feet on each side, and has pathways, grass, trees and flowering plants, and even a small water feature.  The Jedi there use it for meditation, but mostly it is visited only by the gardeners who tend it.  

I had Jinn brought to the garden, unchained, and left to sit on a patch of grass.  Then the guards left, the entrances and windows were sealed, and I sat alone, unmasked, to observe. 

He sat on his behind, legs crossed, head bent forward with the sun warming his back.  After a few minutes he slowly straightened, leaning back further until his face was pointed up at the sky.  Eyes closed, he sat there for some time soaking in the warmth of the sun. 

I could feel his pleasure in it, in the simple touch of the sun, in its clean, life-giving energy.  With a sigh, he lowered his head, and began to feel around.  His fingers moved through the grass, and he pulled himself up onto his knees and began to crawl. 

He searched out the entire enclosure, stopping only to regain his strength now and then.  When he reached the water he lay on his stomach and scooped handfuls of it up, drinking his fill.  When he had ascertained its dimensions and depth, he pulled himself forward and slipped into it to wash. 

It was cold, I could feel the tingle of it on his scratched and bruised skin – but it felt wonderful, too.  He grabbed handfuls of sand from the pool bottom and rubbed his skin with it, using the sand as rough cleanser.  He combed his fingers through his hair, cleansing it, as well as the ragged beard on his face and throat.  And then he cleaned elsewhere, between his legs, and in the torn and violated parts of his body. 

He knew I watched him, though the drugs kept his contact with the Force tenuous and unreliable.  The link I had established as part of my routines was two-way, and had he been in full possession of his powers I might well have been overwhelmed.  As it was, his muted Force sense still rang with his pleasure.  Though he had little contact with the life-force around him, still he could enjoy the simple pleasure of being clean, unchained and out-of-doors. 

“Thank you.” 

I frowned, and saw that he was turned towards me.  Sitting on the grass again, he was combing out his wet hair, squeezing the water from it and wrapping it behind his head.  Did he think I was being kind?  It hardly seemed likely, but I played his game. 

“You’re welcome.” 

When he was finished, he sat facing me.  He was no more than ten feet from me, unchained, and without the Force.  He was also blind.  So I watched him, and paid attention to what the Force showed me.  Only a fool underestimated his enemy.  This enemy especially one did not take for granted. 

I sent the bowl of fruit on the ground beside me towards him with a flick of my finger. 

“Food for you.  Should you think I’m adding to my generosity, I don’t wish you to expire quite yet.” 

He stretched out his hands and I lowered the bowl into them.  As he selected a pana and bit into it, I poured the little half-cap of Glitter onto my tongue, and he unknowingly consumed the other half with the fruit.  

I’d had it tested, and the chem report had listed a few odd nanochems, but nothing regarded as dangerous.  Well, not too dangerous anyhow.  In time the nanos would latch onto the user’s brain and take up residence, and the more you consumed the more nanos there were in your brain.  One dose, though, would cause little problem and I could – could – couldcould = + on – couldcould –CHANGE – nononono 

Open... 

“Master Jinn?” 

Qui-Gon looked down at the boy standing in front of him.  He was – who?  Oh yes, the trainee who’d been sent to him.  Despite the fact that Qui-Gon had said, no more trainees, the Elders kept sending them.  Go see Master Jinn, learn from him. 

“What’s your name, young man?” 

In his grey tunic and leggings, that had obviously been worn by someone else and repaired, the boy looked absurdly young.  He flushed, and his changeable eyes widened.  “Obi-Wan, Master Jinn.  I was sent – that is, I was told – they said you would –“ 

“Train you?  Teach you?” 

“Save me.  They said you would save me.” 

 

WRENCH

 

The water was warm, and he’d been looking forward to it after a day’s hard work.  Sun-dappled and lazy, he swam across the pool, wondering if others ever have the simple joy of swimming in a forest pond on a hot summer’s day? 

Then he felt hands on him, taking his hips, swinging him around in the water, and he looked up into the smiling face of his lover.  The sun flashed around his head, blinking on and off as the breeze moved the leaves of the trees above him. 

He let himself be moved forward, wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist, sighed and closed his eyes at the feel of wet rough beard rubbing against his chest.  Teeth latched onto one astonishingly sensitive nipple and he groaned. 

There was nothing in that touch that wasn’t perfect.  When he wanted to be aroused, big, callused hands took him and aroused him.  Strength that could kill was turned to caresses.  Suspended in the water, without a sound or a word, he felt the big man enter him, sliding inside, so perfect, like a dance, like music.  

_Two, then one._

I was standing in a place that had no solid boundaries, just misty, indeterminate walls that faded away from sight.  There was little tactile sense of reality; no smell or taste, little feeling – but there was sound.  Someone was sobbing.  

He came out of the mist towards me, and the way he watched me was unnerving, because he could see me, and I wasn’t used to that.  He was still naked but totally unconcerned.  I was robed and masked but he looked right past the mask, into my eyes. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice was soft, but it rang through me like a bell.  “Want?  What do I want?”  An odd question.  

“Yes.  What do you want, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” 

“I want to be a Jedi.  I want to be the best.  I want it to stop.” 

Stop?  

He was close to me, I could see his eyes shining in the fluctuating light.  “It will take a long time to bring balance, to mend the broken pieces.”  He held out his hands and they were bloodied.  “I cannot do it alone.  I need your help.”  

It wasn’t his blood, and it wasn’t mine.  I tried to take control.  “What do you want?” 

He smiled.  “I want you to take off your mask and show me your face.” 

He knew the rules.  “If I do that, you will die. You know the rules…” 

“Rules, rules, rules,” he said, the smile coming back to his voice.  “I’ve never been much for rules.  I’ll show you my face, if you’ll show me yours.” 

As he reached for my mask, he reached for his own, and I came awake before I could see what he was hiding --

 

I snarled in anger as I woke.  I was sitting on the grass, my back against a tree.  Jinn was sprawled in the grass, one hand outstretched towards me, still unconscious.  

How could he be that strong?  How could he come into my visions, my mind, and take so much control?  Blinded and helpless, alone and naked in the midst of his enemies, his serenity and his inner strength were worthy of respect.  

Respect what frightens or threatens you, learn from it, take its strength and make it part of you.  Then destroy it. 

That was a mantra I knew all too well.  That lesson had been burned into me as a child.  Each time I was frightened, each time I woke sobbing and lonely in the night, I would be shown the Way.  Learn from it.  Reduce it to its component parts like pitting an orjfruit, and consume the meat of what remained. 

But strangest of all, I realised, as I watched the Warlock stir awake, was that nowhere in those necessarily unreliable images, had I sensed any rage.  No hatred, no desire for vengeance.  Nothing of the kinds of feelings he could be expected to have towards me.  I had sensed things, what I couldn’t be sure.  I had the feeling that one of them had been pity. 

_But what of the child, the trainee, asking to be saved?_   Had that been his manipulation or something from myself?  It had felt true, like the reflection in a pool.  Honesty compelled me to try and judge myself, and the Code taught us to seek out weakness in ourselves as well as in our – 

 victims 

Not victims.  Subjects.  I shook my head, as something like fear tightened into a ball in my belly.  _You should kill him now before he gets all the way in_.  

But something said he already had. 

I had him returned to the cell and went back to my rooms with some idea of lunch and meditation to clear my thoughts for the next round – but there was a message waiting for me from the Temple on Coruscant.  Lord Windu was on his way to Alderaan to take over the questioning, and he would be arriving the next day. 

It would be a difficult day, so I retired early, after a bath and a massage.

I woke shivering with cold.  My body, where it had been pressed against the stone floor, was numb, and every joint ached from it, and every inch of my skin prickled with the chill.

Half way through reaching out for the bowl of water I sensed on the floor nearby, I froze.

It wasn’t me.  It was him. 

No drugs, no excuses.  Not good.

 

* * *

 

 

He came awake in a pool of sunlight, and his skin, where it was wrapped in the blankets and the nearness of his jessman, was warm. 

Qui-Gon froze in mid-movement, sensing the flash of emotion, the unrestrained wash of it – and the fact that he had seen sunlight, seen the sky through the window, and then in that peculiar wrenching internal change it was gone and he lay in darkness again, and alone. 

But in that brief contact he had sensed a great deal more about Obi-Wan Kenobi than the Inquisitor would have wished. 

He wasn’t fed or watered that morning.  They came in without speaking, pulled him upright and dragged him out and along to another room where he was hung with his arms and legs spread.  His wrists were tied to cross beams, as were his ankles, so that he hung, open and vulnerable. 

And finally a familiar voice spoke, and he felt the future narrow down the fine point of Here, and Now, and possibly no more. 

“Well, my old friend.  It’s been a long time.”

 

* * *

 

 

I rested my forehead against the wall and fought not to vomit.  Again. 

It was difficult, and the shame didn’t change that.  I couldn’t block out the images or the memory.  Or the agony.  It was all far too close. 

Lord Windu had arrived shortly after dawn, and had wasted very little time.  After paying his respects to the local Jedi master, he changed into his black work robes and mask and went down to the chambers with me.  The Warlock was taken from his cell and prepared, and I’d stood to one side, remembering the words Windu had said to me as we’d walked together. 

“Only to second level?  I am disappointed, but not unsurprised.  You cannot finesse this man, Obi-Wan, you cannot play with him, he will get into your mind and weaken you.  Strength will break him,  and pain.  His barriers must be taken down, and his will to resist. Give him time to think, and it will only take longer.” 

So I’d watched as he’d walked around Jinn, talking to him like an old companion. 

“Well, my old friend, it’s been a long time.” 

“Mace,” he’d said, tracking his Inquisitor blindly.  “Have I lured you out of your comfortable web on Coruscant?” 

“You  have, and you’ve been playing games with my young Jedi here.  But the time for games is over.” 

He said nothing more, but signalled for the Glove to be placed on Qui-Gon’s…on Jinn’s left hand.  It fitted down to his tied wrist, snug around the fingers and thumb.  Once in place, it began to tighten slowly. 

Windu made no requests, asked for nothing, he just stepped back and waited. 

In the end, the Glove contracted until every bone in the left hand was shattered, until the flesh and tendons were so much squashed meat. 

It took some time for him start screaming, and then it took some time for him to stop. 

I vomited, uncontrollably.  I could feel it, feel the terrible pain, the unending agony of it, and there was nothing I could do to stop it - stop myself vomiting.  I staggered out of the room. 

He must have passed out finally, and I was able to breathe again. 

Lord Windu appeared in time.  He said nothing to me, swept past with his companions, and I returned to my rooms to bathe.  What else could I do?  

I was ruined, of course.  To show such weakness at a Questioning might be permitted of an initiate, but I was a Jedi made, with three inquisitions behind me.  At the very least I would probably be retrained, at worst, transferred to standard Jedi service.  My face would be naked, along with my shame.  

There was little peace or quiet that evening, and my left hand was on fire. 

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but the call to come to his room in maen service was the last thing.  Unsure what it meant, other than that it was an obligation to be fulfilled, I prepared myself for service. 

Wearing the single robe layer of white sheersilk called the Innocent, bare beneath and bare-footed, with only a plain white mask over my face, I went to his rooms at the appointed hour.  Feeling tired and strangely disconnected, I was admitted into his presence. 

He was working when I arrived, seated at a desk sending messages, dictating others.  Even there, away from Coruscant, he was in constant communication with the Temple.  The room was dim except for the pool of light around him, and quiet.  I stood inside the door for a few moments and removed my mask.  It was new to me, all of it, and I didn’t know what to do.  He looked up after a time and studied me with that even, unfathomable gaze. 

“Well, Obi-Wan.  You have set me something of a quandary.” 

“Yes, Lord.” 

He took in a deep breath and stood, walking around the desk towards me.  He was dressed in an elegantly embroidered robe, black and gold and silver that shimmered when he walked.  It was open to the waist and he wore nothing beneath.  He stopped in front of me, raised a hand and put it beneath my chin.  Tipping my head up, he looked into my eyes. 

“I am not totally surprised, of course.” 

I froze, licked my lips.  “Sir, I don’t…” 

“No, I’m sure you don’t understand.”  One thumb brushed over my chin, stroking the cleft there.  “But others on the Council knew of your weakness, of your tendency towards clemency.  You have too much pity in you, Obi-Wan.” 

He could just as easily have punched me in the stomach.  I felt cold, except where his hand touched me.  His fingers continued to stroke my face, moving around my neck and up into my hair.  “Yes, too much pity,” he said, his voice low and a little husky.  “Two of your prisoners died under interrogation, and we believe it was more than the inexperience of youth.  You gave them a mercy release, didn’t you, Obi-Wan?  You got too close to their pain and took it away from them, taking their lives as well.” 

I opened my mouth to deny it, but he silenced me by leaning forward and taking my mouth, holding my head still with one hand so that he could possess it.  I sucked in air through my nose, my senses filled by him; by the taste of him in my mouth, the smell of his personal cleansers, the musky tang of desire.  I should have enjoyed the intimacy on some level, but I could not.  

His other hand parted my robes and stroked down my stomach, around my hip and across my buttock.  He held me there, pulled me close, continued to use my mouth with his.  He made a sound like a humming, then pulled back and moved to lick at my throat.  I could feel his breath on me as he spoke. 

“From the beginning we knew your flaws, but I worked to keep you with us.  I knew your strength in the Force, knew that if I could work that foolish weakness from you, I could mould you into a great Inquisitor, perhaps a future council leader.”  His fingers slid down between my buttocks, fingertips brushing the entry to my body.  “I was new to the council then, but I foresaw a future where you would be raised to a great height.  I determined to toughen you, to drive the weakness out, right from the start.”  The hand stroked, the lips moved over me, the words started making a terrible sense.  “This weakness will be reported, too many saw it, but if I take you as maen, it will be seen that you serve a purpose to the Jedi, and no-one will question how I may choose to raise you.” 

Whore.  I thought for a moment I’d spoken it, but I couldn’t speak because I was on my knees then, taking his organ into my mouth, performing the service he required of me.  He used me that night, continued to talk to me as he did, and it was a sort of profanity because he spoke of training as he took me to his bed and onto my back, as he rode me with my legs spread and raised.  Whore, in every way there was but the spoken way, and it hurt surprisingly little, because he was very good at it.


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever hopes he might have had slid away with the arrival of Mace Windu. 

They had a history, a past going back to when they were both much younger men.  Qui-Gon had been a Master when Windu was an up-and-coming Inquisitor and Qui-Gon suspected there was as much envy as diligence in Windu’s view of him.  Yet he wasn’t intrinsically an evil man.  He was something much worse – a fanatic, one who believed that it was necessary to cut out disease from the fabric of the Republic, even if that cutting was painful. 

He would not show mercy or any real pleasure in what he did, but he would do it thoroughly – and one of the first things he did on that second day was to stop the drugs.  It gave Qui-Gon access once more to the Force, but the drugs had been something of a buffer to the pain.  

Windu’s own words confirmed it, as he bent to whisper into Qui-Gon’s ear.  “I have no fear of you, Qui-Gon, or your power.  You need only repent and give me the names I want and the pain will stop.” 

But he had no names to give and no repentance that would earn any reprieve.  

Qui-Gon knew that he had failed and that he would drag the young Inquisitor down with him into madness and death.  From the moment he’d been taken,  success was dubious, despite the optimism that had buffered him.  The future – and his life - had been always just a moment away from failure.  Faith and hope, in the end, were all that had sustained him. 

But hope, like his life, was all but lost. 

So he did the only thing he could; he used all of his strength to throw up a wall between himself and Obi-Wan, cutting through that peculiar link they shared, buffering the young Inquisitor.  But in the process he drew on all his remaining strength, and any protection he might have had from the pain was blown away.

 

* * *

 

The pain was gone. 

My first thought was, he’d died, but then I knew he was alive.  I could feel him still, like a raging ache numbed by drugs.  Still there, still hurting, but far, far away. 

I’d been drinking steadily all morning, I remembered that, in flashes.  Mixing the caps, the drink, the soothers.  Doing anything to try and deaden that anguish.  Cut it off, just cut it off.  Well, it had gone, wish come true.  But I didn’t know if I wanted it gone when I didn’t know how or why. 

I was sitting on the floor.  My back was to the wall.  I had only a pair of pants on, and those were stained and stinking.   T’ooh was sitting across the room.  I watched him, sensed him.  

He was tucked into a ball, watching me, his face bruised and flushed.  I’d done something to him, hit him probably.  I looked across into his eyes, wondering how he could hide the hate he had to feel for me.  He had his own mask, made of flesh, toughened by experience. 

When I thought I could stand without falling over, I pulled myself up and went to the bathroom and stood underneath the hot water.  When I felt cleaner I stepped out, dried myself off and pulled on a robe and a mask.  I didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to look at Jinn again, but I knew I had to.  

 

* * *

 

His life was counting down, heartbeat by heartbeat, the pain taxing his body beyond bearing.  He could feel himself unwinding, as his heart laboured, fighting to pump blood, as his brain numbed but still tried to think, to feel.  His throat was raw from screaming, and he could taste blood, could smell it.  The pain was a beast that was consuming him, little by little, until there would be nothing left. 

He may have told Windu something.  It was hard to know whether anything of worth was said between the screaming, and he finally stopped caring. 

After a time that could have been hours or moments he came to some sort of consciousness, aware that the pain had diminished and the questioning had stopped. 

The room was empty, he could sense that.  It was quiet, except for the low grating sound that he finally realised was his own breathing, coming out in moans.  He swallowed, tasted blood, coughed and that hurt too but not enough to stop him from coughing again. 

He heard the door open, tensed instinctively, then felt a hand touch him on the upper arm, cool on his fevered skin.  He knew that touch, though it had rarely touched him in such an innocently intimate way. 

How, he wondered as he turned towards Kenobi, could he be so drawn by the feel of a hand that had caused him so much pain?  What had only been duty, an obligation to a future where the Jedi returned to what they were meant to be, had become more.  It had become particularized, a personal future in which this unlikely, flawed and fascinating young man was important to him. 

_Well, a dying man is entitled to a little foolishness._ He sensed that particular Force essence, felt it flow around him as Obi-Wan drew near.  There was a difference in it: confusion, uncertainty, the beginning of changes.  Well, perhaps he had not failed entirely after all. 

The hand tensed, squeezing a little, to gain his attention.  “What did you do?” 

_How well I know him already_.  “What was necessary.” 

The hand left his skin and he swung forward a little, caught in the shift between denial and desire.  Kenobi walked around behind him, and the touch came again, almost compassionate.  

“You cut me off somehow.  Why did you do that?” 

Qui-Gon waited, ignoring the pain. 

“I asked you –“ 

“Yes, you asked me.  Such a need to know, to control.  In any other time or place the two of us occupied, I suspect you would still have questioned everything, Inquisitor or not.  So let me ask you – why do you think I did what I did?  Do you know?  Do you have any idea?” 

 “I don’t!  I don’t know why and I don’t understand you.”  

He sounded desperate, and Qui-Gon was human enough to savour that, to know that he had caused that shift in power.  Qui-Gon responded as if Kenobi were a student of his, asking simple questions for which the answers were quite complex. 

“Lack of understanding is not always a flaw.  This questioning tells me you are seeing beyond black and white, and into shades of grey.  You need to clarify your thinking, and ask the right questions.” 

He felt the sudden shift in the air. Kenobi was very close to him, sensing him, opening to him as he never had, the hunger to understand making him reckless. 

“You’re also being annoyingly obtuse.  I don’t have time for this.…this sort of thing.” 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help smiling a little; Obi-Wan might almost have stamped his foot, it was that level of frustration.  Even without that unusual understanding between them, Qui-Gon could tell so much from the tone of voice, that rang with a thwarted-little-boy level of annoyance. 

“Not a good thing for an Inquisitor, impatience.  Didn’t they teach you that?  Not a good trait for a Jedi on any level, in fact.  Sometimes, things take the time they take.  You can’t always hurry life, or the understanding of it.” 

“Do you mind,” Obi-Wan said, dryly, “making sense, just this once?  What did you do?  Just tell me that, just that, a straight answer.” 

“The sensible answer is not necessarily the correct one,” Qui-Gon said, finally, trying to relax even as the pain pushed at his control.  “And no, I’m not being obtuse, as you suggested.”  He sighed, and took in a slow, uncomfortable breath.  He’d almost forgotten what being without pain felt like.  “It’s almost over, I know.  I have gone as far as I can go with my time.  I deemed it necessary not to take you with me any further.” 

There was stillness then, a silent few moments and the sudden feeling of tension – his, Obi-Wan’s, he wasn’t sure. 

“Good Lords, why?  Why, for Force sake!  Why protect me? You should hate me!” 

So many emotions in that voice: frustration, unexpected anger, even a little fear, and something else.  Something almost like hope, and a hunger.  If only he wasn’t imagining it, wanting it so much he sensed what was not there. 

He was very tired, and his voice faded with each difficult, indrawn breath.  “Do you believe in destiny lost, young Inquisitor?  Do you believe that certain things should be, but are not?”  He swallowed, mouth and throat dry, growing more tired with each word.  “I believe that you and I are such a lost destiny, that we were meant to be more than we are, and it is that destiny, almost but not quite lost, which binds us.”  He wished for a lot of things at that moment, but most that he could touch.  “You are my yesterdays that should have been.” 

“You’re mad!”  Qui-Gon heard the swish of robes as Kenobi turned to go.  The  moment was suddenly there, and the Force balanced as it was meant to. 

“No,” Qui-Gon whispered, gathering the last traces of his hopes and power, “I am a Jedi Master.”  And he did what he had always meant to do: reached out, followed the paths they had made between them, and revealed him to the Light. 

There was the smell of candle smoke and incense, the fragrance of herbs and oils and the eerie song of the durnian pipes.   How could something made of wood and bone make a sound like a soul weeping?  Silver light shafted through stained glass windows, patterns of rain down the glass.  

Step, toe, step, thump the flat of the foot, kick and pivot, balancing between perfection and fall, but his hands were there to catch me and I could never fall. _  
_

_I learned about the dance that day, the dance that was the meshing of power and skill, with only the rain on the glass and the sound of his voice as my music._

It had never been that way; I had learned by rote from a teacher uninterested in art.  But it should have been.  Would have been – if things had been otherwise. My real memories and my life-that-should-have-been overlapped each other, and reality lost much in the comparison. 

I walked until I could walk no more, and ended up back at my rooms.  The world had taken on a different hue, as if all the colours had subtly shifted, so that I was seeing everything for the first time as it was.  

T’ooh was sitting waiting for me when I returned, and as I entered I looked across into his face and wondered why I’d never bothered to ask him.  For anything.  Perhaps in all the years we’d been together he might, once or twice, have wanted something.  I’d never asked, only taken. 

It suddenly seemed important to apologise.  Ignoring rule and tradition, I stripped off my mask and looked into his eyes.  “I apologise.” 

He barely blinked, then signed slowly as he stood to face me. 

**+For?+**

“Everything.  Hurting you.  Keeping you.  Abusing you.” 

The Force was still with me, and I reached out to him, to sense what he felt for me.  Not hate, which would have been understandable.  It was something more complex than that, made up of pity and patience and dislike.  I could hardly blame him for that.  But there was loneliness too, the isolation imposed upon him by the Jedi when he’d failed their testing as a child.  Not fit to be a Jedi, but still Force sensitive, he’d been a potential threat.  His alternatives were slavery in a production facility along with castration, or body servitude to me, the power of speech taken from him. He’d been fourteen when they’d offered him that choice.  I imagine he grew up very fast at that time. 

We never knew the real possibilities of failure when we were fourteen.  Failure didn’t even occur to us – we believed in the Force, and in the Jedi, and it was all that mattered.  Only in later years did I look back on that naivety and wonder.  I’d never seen the signs, nor guessed how close I’d come to a similar fate to T’ooh’s. 

I’d never seen him, really seen him, till that moment.  He’d simply been there, my jessman.  He’d survived that, and me, his life and innocence destroyed by the Jedi. 

I signed him to me, and when he slid close, reached out and touched the sensor pad on the ring around his throat.  With the pressure of my hand and a whisper of my Force touch, the band snapped open and I drew back.  It seemed suddenly important not to touch him. “You’re free now.  I can’t give you anything but that, I can’t remove the mark or give you back what’s been taken from you.” 

It was a sort of release, to be able to talk to him.  Though he could not speak, thanks to the work done upon him as a child, he could understand. 

He made no sign, just reached up to the collar he’d worn for so many years, and pulled it sharply so that it snapped apart and fell away from his throat.  I had safed the small charge in the lock, or such an act would have torn his head from his body.  He looked at it for a moment or two, then let it drop to the floor, and finally, slowly, signed to me. 

**+What of the other?+**

It was easy to forget sometimes that there was a bright mind behind those dark, placid eyes, that observed and understood.  How much he knew of my life I didn’t know, but that he knew of the Warlock was obvious. 

“I don’t know.” 

He signed, watching me as his hands moved in elegant deliberation. 

**+I want to help him.  He is a good man, the other jess told me about him, what he has done to help others.  He has suffered too much.  I want him to be free too.+**

 “Not possible.  He is under constraint, watched, being questioned by the Head of the Order.  How… what can I do?!” 

He shrugged.  **+As much as you can.  You say you cannot give me anything, but you can give me this – his life and freedom.  He is worth more than both of us+**

I’d never considered doing anything but what I was supposed to do.  Oh, small infractions, the drugs and the trips into the undercity, but nothing so -  treasonable.  Part of me – a significant part – felt that what we did was necessary.  Some numbers died or suffered so that the greatest **civilisation the** galaxy had ever known could live in peace.  In the chaos of war and anarchy, many more would die than the few that were put to the Questioning.  It had always seemed a just balance to me. 

But no longer did it seem just, or balanced.  I didn’t know what it was in me that had changed.  Once, everything had been simple – follow the doctrines, obey orders, do my job.  I hadn’t even given much thought to any sort of future.  Yet at that moment, despite the threat and the risk, I suddenly had the sense that I was about to do something that was both wrong, and totally, absolutely right.  

I thought of him dying, and it hurt in a way I’d never known.  Pain was something I was intimately familiar with, but this was something else.  I simply could not bear the thought of his being gone

 

The tunnels beneath the Temple reminded me of the lower levels on Coruscant.  Dark, damp, echoing, and dangerous, if you didn’t watch your step.  Bad enough alone or in competent company; nearly impossible dragging a half-dead, very tall man. 

It had been T’ooh’s idea.  There had been no obvious way out on the surface; too much security to make it to the spacepad, even assuming there was a ship there to take.  The streets and walkways were out – just a little obvious, a Jedi Inquisitor, his jessman and a half-naked prisoner.  That left the underground. 

T’ooh led the way, the small torch he held providing just enough light to see by.  It was slow going – frustratingly so, in the circumstances.  I walked, or staggered, with Qui-Gon’s right arm draped over my shoulder.  He did what he could to help, and made no complaint to the jolting, uneven movements.  Somehow, together we made a far better pace than we should have.  He seemed to draw strength from me, but he’d let his control slip and I had a good idea of just how much he hurt. 

The plan had been simple enough: wait for the right time, go to the cell, incapacitate the guards and security and take him.  Timing was all important.  And we needed that most illogical of things, luck.

That evening Lord Windu had entered the fourth level of Questioning, the psychological, and for a time the physical questioning would cease.  The fourth level was a time to find information, to work on the foundation established during the first and third levels’ more physical approaches.  This was all to the good. Qui-Gon would be left alone during the night, submitted to changing temperatures and deprived of sleep - but Lord Windu would not be there. 

I’d gone to Windu, summoned as I’d expected I would be, and had dinner with him.  He discussed the questioning, talked about Qui-Gon, his history, his strength, but the Head of the Order had no doubt of his ability to break a man who had clearly once been a friend.  When the meal was over I’d served him, working hard to satisfy him so that, tired from the day’s questioning and the sex, he’d fallen sleep.

 I changed into the plain work clothing I’d put aside, and made my way down to the cells.  T’ooh was waiting for me, and he distracted the guard at the door while I stunned the man.  I knew where the controls were for the surveillance;  I deactivated them, and then collected Qui-Gon and headed for the tunnels.

It had seemed just too easy. 

We reached a junction, and T’ooh studied his map, pointing out the path.  Along a winding tunnel, up a set of ladders - which would not be easy - and then out to the surface.  I’d brought money with me to buy clothes, bribe anyone that needed bribing, and find some sort of transport offworld.  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the only one we had.

Light flared suddenly ahead, shocking in the gloom.  I stopped, stumbled under Qui-Gon’s weight, and saw a figure outlined in radiance. 

“I am very disappointed.” 

He was alone, dressed in dark grey robes, holding a lantern in one hand and his unlit lightsaber in the other.  The strangest thing was that I wasn’t surprised. 

He stepped forward, the lantern swinging, throwing patterns of light and dark on the curved walls of the passage.  “Do you think, my Obi-Wan, that I take no precautions?  Qui-Gon said quite a few things to me during the Questioning.  There was a lot of his nonsense about Jedi and the Force and fate, but he particularly mentioned you.  How he had come for you, to take you back to the Light.”  He snorted, all composed power and amusement.  “Destiny and all that foolishness.  But I took precautions, and had a tracking device put under his skin, in case you failed me completely.” 

I should have known. Why hadn’t I thought of it?  Perhaps he was right, perhaps I was weak and foolish.  

“Failed _you_ _?”_ I said, my voice a croak.  

“Yes, I’m afraid you did.”  Windu shook his head as he advanced down the passage.  “I am very disappointed.  This is not the way I hoped things would end.” 

It was then I realised he was maskless, and I knew, at that moment, why. 

There wasn’t time to think much more than - _I must be insane!_   - and then my lightsaber was in my hand and I was leaping forward.  Even then, even in the moment of ultimate madness, I remembered my training.  Lift and sweep, deflect the glowing purple blade and duck.  The Force was there and I anticipated, defending against the sweeping slash, blocking the upward swing.  Of course, Windu was doing it too, and at an insultingly measured pace.  He was good, and he knew it. 

And then something flowed into me and Qui-Gon was there, inside me somehow, blending his power with mine, his experience adding purpose, confidence.  My speed, his strength, my skill, his experience – blending us into one body, one strength. 

But even then, I almost didn’t see it.  At the height of a rebounding leap, Windu’s right hand made a series of peculiar motions.  It meant nothing, I was too distracted by the moment and by the future’s reflected imminence.  I heard a wordless scream filled with anguish, caught a movement from the side, and - 

_Pain!_

It sliced into me and I staggered, shocked into real time, and I looked around to see T’ooh, his face a doll’s frozen mask, his eyes wide and horrified as he slashed at me again with the knife that I didn’t even know he had.  He came at me, so fast, the knife held up in hands that had always served me, and were streaked with my blood.  My lightsaber was raised; he didn’t even look at it as he lunged forward.  Whimpering, he fell into my arms, with my lightsaber piercing his heart. 

I stumbled, back to the wall, and my ‘saber fell as I held T’ooh’s lifeless body in my arms.  I slid down as Windu advanced for the kill.  There was no mercy in his eyes. 

“You have made so many mistakes, Obi-Wan, the worst of which was to underestimate me.  The boy was my servant from the moment the commands were imprinted on his brain.  You never had anything that was entirely yours.” 

Was there anything they hadn’t planned, any future they hadn’t foreseen?  All that time, T’ooh had been a dormant, unwilling weapon waiting to be launched against me.  I felt the blood on my back, the swelling pain, and hope faded as I lowered T’ooh’s warm, familiar body to the ground.  

Long fingers moved into my view and picked up my fallen lightsaber. 

I looked up to see a blind, half-naked Jedi Master step forward, my ‘saber glowing in his right hand.  He spoke to me without words, his lips reserved for the smile he gave to Windu. _  
_

_~my turn~_

* * *

 

The lantern went out, kicked aside, but he didn’t need light, nor eyes, to see. 

Windu’s steps were hesitant and Qui-Gon could hear the anxiety in the younger man’s increased heartbeat, the heightened breathing. 

Qui-Gon fought by instinct, by that sure touch that the Force gave him of where things were, where actions would lead, how the air moved before the motion was begun.  It was that state all Jedi sought: perfect communion with the Force.  There was no need to think, and the only thing he regretted was that no-one would see it. 

Windu was good, but he lacked battle practice. 

“You’ve become a politician,” Qui-Gon gasped, as he cut close enough to Windu to singe skin.  “Where is that skill I remember from the old days?” 

“Still good enough to kill you, old man.”  

It was bravado from one who’d rarely been bested, but Qui-Gon sensed the uncertainty in Mace Windu’s voice.  

Things happened fast then; Windu leapt back and twisted aside.  Something flew through the air - the lantern – and Qui-Gon tried to dodge.  He put out his arm in balance and -- 

_Pain!_   

He stumbled as the lantern struck his smashed fingers.  Jolted back into reality, and cut off from the Force, he fell.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Looking back, I was never sure whether it was courage or stupidity that launched me unarmed at Windu’s back, into the middle of a lightsaber fight. All I knew was rage, at T’ooh’s death, at Qui-Gon’s pain. Windu turned at the threat, his lightsaber blade flashing towards me. Somehow I twisted, doing something with my body that would hurt later. I hit his back, locked my legs around his belly, my arms around his neck – and twisted.

I used everything, all the strength left in me, focused on that one act of necessary madness.

With a sound of snapping bone and torn flesh, his neck broke. He fell beneath me, folding inwards, dead before he hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon remembered little of the time between the fight beneath the surface of Alderaan and his arrival on the planet Malatrive. His energy reserves gone, the total of his injuries finally dragged him down and he slid in and out of consciousness. There was vague recollection of being delivered into medical care. He had some memory of confusing voices, of the sound and smell of the place, and periods of pain broken by unconsciousness that finally turned into sleep.

Ten days later, Qui-Gon was released from the medical centre. It hadn’t been a pleasant time; they’d done their best for him, but it still hadn’t been good.

The hand could not be fixed, only replaced. Too much damage, they said, as they shook their heads over the scan images. Almost every bone had been broken, the flesh torn, the damage complete. So they’d amputated it at the wrist, and he felt the loss more keenly than his eyesight.

Nothing to be done there, either. The neural connections to the brain had been genetically turned off. His eyes were perfect, his mind was undamaged, but the two could never interact. Blind for life, they said. Which he’d known, and accepted, but still…hope isn’t very logical.

On his first day out of the clinic, he’d dressed and gone outside alone. The Force showed him the way, but he was tired and paid hardly any attention to where he walked. When he sensed water – a small lake – he stopped and sat on something rock-hard where clean air stirred through his hair and across his flushed skin.

He held his wrist on his lap and wondered at the peculiar ways of life and fate. His body couldn’t seem to forget a part of itself, couldn’t acknowledge there were no hand there, for he could feel it now and then, and now and then it hurt. Phantom pain, the physicians had said, the nerves transmitting signals that the brain wrongly interpreted.

“Damned nuisance,” he said aloud, wincing at the tingle from non-existent mangled fingers. “Bad enough that it’s gone, but to have it hurt anyway…”

Yes, and that mirrored other things in his life as well. When he’d woken, the first thing he’d thought of was Obi-Wan. The first thing he’d asked for when he could speak was Obi-Wan. But he was gone.

Gone, but it hurt anyway.  _Well, and why should he have stayed? What could a crippled, blinded Jedi be to a young man taking the first steps into a new life?_ But like that missing hand, the loss hurt, despite logic or reason.  _He is gone. It was bound to happen. There is nothing you can do about it. Let it go._

“Do you always think such nonsense?”

Qui-Gon turned so fast he over-balanced, but before he could fall he felt arms around him, a hand on his back, a sturdy body supporting him. Obi-Wan!

“Obi-Wan?”

A snort of laughter stirred over his face. “Yes, and who else would it be? Saving you seems to be something I’m supposed to do.”

“But – but you left!”

He felt a hand touched his wrist stump, cradling it gently. “I had things to do - money, travel arrangements, information to get. Didn’t they tell you? Does this hurt?”

“Yes…no. Sometimes.” The relief was immense, it blotted out a lot of questions, or the need for many of them. “I mean, no, they didn’t tell me. I thought you’d gone.”

“Well, I hadn’t. You don’t have much faith in me, do you?”

Like a part-healed wound, the edges of their relationship rubbed together uneasily. Qui-Gon felt a flush of guilt – he had thought Obi-Wan had left. It seemed true at the time, but in retrospect, Obi-Wan was right.

“I’m sorry. It isn’t you. The flaw is mine. Forgive me.”

The arms around him tightened. “You’re allowed to be human, Master Jedi. And I did think about leaving, for a minute or two.”

Qui-Gon leaned back against Obi-Wan and wrapped his hand around one of the arms holding him. “What stopped you?”

“You did. I kept seeing you, hearing you. It’s difficult to walk away from someone who stays with you every step you take. But isn’t this thing two way? Couldn’t you sense I was nearby?”

Qui-Gon gave a brief laugh. “I’ve been drugged, and unconscious and under a certain amount of stress over the last ten days. Just breathing was hard enough. It was a natural assumption, I suppose. But I am…pleased…that you stayed.” He wriggled a little, finding a comfortable place to sit, warmed by the heat of Obi-Wan’s body against his back. “So, you have made plans, then. May I know what they are?”

“We cannot stay here much longer. Even with Windu dead, the Order still exists, and will be hunting us. We must leave, now - go where they won’t expect. I thought to get us off-world to a place I know, a desert world called Tatooine. It is outside the Republic and the general control of the Order. We can hide there until you decide what you want to do, where we go.”

Qui-Gon had never heard of it. “Safe?”

“I wouldn’t call it safe – it’s run by the Hutts and is a fairly rough place, but you can hide there if you know your way around. I’ve done some research on it and back on Coruscant I spoke to a couple of our pilots who went there. I thought I might need somewhere to go one day.”

There was a shift in the breeze, it grew cooler suddenly and thunder cracked overhead.

“It’s going to rain, we should get inside.” Obi-Wan began to move, but Qui-Gon held him in place.

“No. It’s good here, and if we’re going to a desert world, I may not feel rain on my face for a very long time.”

Obi-Wan laughed again and Qui-Gon relished it. The boy had laughed so little in his life, and it was something of an achievement to be the cause of that shift.

The humour was still there in the tone of Obi-Wan’s voice, and the gentle hand on Qui-Gon’s ruined arm. “You’re an aesthetic, aren’t you? It’s an odd combination. Warrior, aesthetic, ex-Inquisitor…”

Like the air changing before the rain, Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan’s mood shift. He twisted around, put his hand up to feel Obi-Wan’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

An outward breath, propelled by anxiety. “So many things. Can’t you tell, don’t you know? Doubts, regrets - you must have had your share of them.”

Yes, he had, and he sensed it in Obi-Wan, coming up from where it had been for long, deep inside. Guilt, self-hate, doubt. Even as he knew them as enemies of old, as things of pain, Qui-Gon recognised their importance. To feel them at all was a victory.

“Yes, regret is something we have in common.”

His voice was a whisper. “It won’t ever go away, will it?”

His life would a learning process, and that would be one of the hardest lessons: that each person must pay for what they did, in one way or another. “No, it won’t ever go away. But there’s the different between you and someone like Mace Windu. You will learn from it, take strength from the wrong and become better. He could not. He felt no remorse for any of it, not the brutality, or the pain, or even the casual ruin of life and hope. What was done to me was bad, but it is in the past. The past is gone, it doesn’t exist, Obi-Wan.”

The hand on his arm tightened briefly. “What was done to you was very bad, and I did much of it. The torture. The rape.” The warm grip lifted away and Qui-Gon felt him shiver. “I’m not sure how I can – what I can say –“

He held on and pushed the memory of that abuse deep down, where Obi-Wan could not sense it. “Yes, it was bad, and wrong. But it was another Obi-Wan who did it, and you have put him away, and moved on. Such guilts only have power if you give them power. You must let it go, as I have, and make a present that will grow into a better future.”

“You’re very confident in my abilities,” Obi-Wan said, his tone bitter. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

Well, there is self-healing, and there is self-indulgence. “Please don’t wallow. I didn’t allow myself to be blinded and tortured for an overgrown child.”

Qui-Gon felt him twitch and the mood changed again, even as another crack of thunder rang overhead. The small laugh was almost submerged by the coming storm. “Well, don’t sweet talk me, my Master! ”

The rain began to fall, small sharp sounds on leaf and earth, as Qui-Gon swung around to face Obi-Wan, and felt the younger man’s body shift to accommodate him.

“I will always say what has to be said. I don’t imagine we will ever be bored with one another, but I know there will be bad times. We both need to endure. There is a lot you can teach me as well.”

As the rain came harder, Qui-Gon felt a hand slide into his hair at the back of his head, and another come to rest in the middle of his back. It felt quite natural to move forward and mould himself against Obi-Wan. And when he angled his head in a way that was somehow just right, it seemed equally right when the warmth of Obi-Wan’s lips pressed against his.

For all his skill and life experience, this was an entirely new and he fumbled a little, not sure what was expected. He had never wanted to kiss anyone until that moment, when he wanted to kiss Obi-Wan very, very much. He realised then that the fear he’d felt when he thought Obi-Wan had gone – and it had been fear – was more than simple loss. It was the thought of never being with him again, of never knowing if the future unfolding for them never came to pass.

The greatest loss from my blindness is that I will never see his face.

Qui-Gon paused, his breath hitching. Wherever this was going, he knew it was much more than a matter of missions or teachings. This was purely about two people, touching and needing to be touched. He tasted warmth, clean breath, and the hot, moist tension that he thought might be desire – his or Obi-Wan’s, he wasn’t sure. When he pulled back for breath, a hand touched his cheek, and Obi-Wan’s voice was hoarse.

“Don’t Jedi Masters know how to kiss?”

Qui-Gon paused, lips open, and he felt his cheeks heat. “This one doesn’t. Am I doing it wrong?”

“Not too badly, you just need to be a little closer.” Obi-Wan moved in, enfolding him, and he slid his good hand around behind Obi-Wan, beneath his jacket.

“Like this?” Qui-Gon asked softly, and the bristle of an unshaved cheek rubbed against face.

“Yes, much better.”

And then they were kissing again and Qui-Gon found himself deep within that joining, so that he felt his own pleasure, felt Obi-Wan’s, back and forth, growing in waves that rebounded between them. Qui-Gon had no doubt of Obi-Wan’s hunger for him, and he knew that Obi-Wan would feel those reflected desires. Such a strange fate, that the one the Force had told him would bring the Jedi back to the Light would also be the single shining passion of an old Jedi’s life.

The rain continued to fall, soaking them both, and he remembered a vision they had shared, of two people making love in a lake. Thunder cracked overhead and knew there would be lightning but he felt sheltered. Obi-Wan’s mouth moved down across throat and he tipped his head back, expelling a breath at the feel of that mouth on his skin. Hands manoeuvred him, he felt his hospital robe being pulled away, followed by the sleeveless shirt beneath and then they were sliding down to the damp grass, the robe trapped beneath them.

Hands explored him, running over his chest, pausing to touch one nipple and he gasped and arched at the sweet, sharp pain of teeth biting on the other. Heart thudding in a growing, rapid rhythm, he stared up and the darkness lightened until he could perceive a glowing presence above him: Obi-Wan, vibrant with life energy.

The mouth and hands continued their magic and he wondered, in a small, sane part of his mind, what he should do with his hand. Finally he rested it on Obi-Wan’s head, fingers wound through the thick, wet hair. It seemed an poor payment to just stroke that head when it was giving such pleasure. After a few moments even that took concentration. The hands and mouth moved lower, licking and suckling on his stomach, moving his legs apart, to finally come to rest over the hard mound between his legs.

Qui-Gon had long since lost all decorum. He was even moaning, and had done that previously only when in pain. But Obi-Wan was doing to him was the opposite of pain; his mouth had stretch to engulf Qui-Gon, moving over his wet pants, while his hands stroked thigh and leg, hip and stomach, and finally curled under to lift his buttocks and pull down the bothersome pants.

And when those hands and that mouth went work on his very aroused flesh, it was all Qui-Gon could do not stop from exploding there an then. Somehow, he didn’t; he felt himself being drawn into the sharing, sensing Obi-Wan’s arousal, his excitement, his pleasure. Obi-Wan covered him then, stretched up along Qui-Gon’s body and Qui-Gon realised somehow he’d undressed because the hot, strong body on top of him was as naked as he was.

Together. Will we always be together? Yes…yes…

The rain washed over them like a benediction, as if to cleanse away the blood and the pain and the last traces of doubt. Their cries of pleasure and release were masked by the thunder, and the lightning was no less exquisite than their release.

 

* * *

 

 

We lay for a long time together, as the storm passed over and the rain ceased. I knew that, in the only way that mattered, I was first for him. In the only way that mattered, he was first for me, as well. I have taken, and been taken, but I had never been cherished. I had touched all of him, scars and wounds, so many of which I had inflicted upon him. I would spend my life healing each one, in whatever way I could. I had hurt him, and he had forgiven me.

There would be other days and nights as we made our way together. What his plans were I didn’t know, but mine were simple, in thought if not in execution: I would strip away the masks and bring the Jedi back into the clean Light.

We had taken the first step in my resurrection. He had removed my mask, and I could see myself reflected in his eyes.


End file.
